A Crostada, with Love

When is the last time you had a great crostada? For most of us, not for a while. For some of us, the only response would be “Um…I’m not sure…remind me, what exactly is a crostada?”

I looked it up in a few places, and the basic definition is that it is a rustic looking, free-form Italian tart, traditionally prepared by folding the edges of the dough over the top of the filling. It is often sweet, frequently filled with fruit like blackberries or blueberries or peaches or plums, but sometimes savory, and also can go by the name croustade (kroo-STAHD), which my handy dandy Food Lover’s Companion defined as “an edible container used to hold a thick stew, creamed meat, vegetable mixture, and so on,” though in this definition the dough container is usually cooked before the filling is added.

The point being that I broke my foot last week. No, that’s not the actually the point. I did break my foot last week, and the real point is that my cooking abilities are much more limited than normal, so I am attempting some deep breathing exercises, and also the exercise of allowing others to cook for me. Chris Styler, friend ne plus ultra, showed up with the most amazing dinner last night for my whole family, which does in fact link us back to the croustade. (Chris’s lovely partner Joe also arrived, and I am going to show you a photo of the pan he cleaned, which is so shiny I am tempted to return it to the store).

Chris brought over a big pat of dough, which was not much more than a perfect blend of olive oil and flour, and a pre-made filling which was an amazing blend of Parmesan, swiss chard, eggs, ricotta, salt, pepper…so simple, a little wet, but not runny. With the help of young Charlie (who apparently prefers to be called Chuck these days), the dough was rolled out, the filling was spooned in, and the edges were folded up. A quick brush with beaten egg, and into the oven it went.

It tasted every bit as great as it looks. It’s not like I wanted to break my foot or anything, but a slab of this tart — accompanied by a serious heap of fresh lettuce, shaved fennel, and fat sauteed shrimp — made me feel as though this, too, shall pass.